I’ve said it before but it bears repeating over and over again: I think discussion of varieties – and specifically of what those varieties taste like – is one of the most critical aspects of the cider and perry conversation.

It’s more important than styles. More important than makers. More important than trees or terroir. More important than faults or fermentation methods. More important, in my opinion, than talking about any other part of the process from tree to bottle.

For varieties are where a cider or perry’s flavour come from.

Everything else is amelioration. The soil, the aspect, the age of the tree, how it’s been made and matured, who it’s been made by, how it’s been packaged – all of that lot is simply building on, adding to or abetting the base flavours that we have gleaned from the variety or varieties used in our cider or perry’s makeup.

Increasingly, where a cider is not an orchard blend of many varieties (and even sometimes when it is) we are seeing variety names on labels. That is fantastic, is a major step, and is something that was fairly rare even just five years ago. 

But as brilliant as it is to give these names more visibility, we must acknowledge and accept that they mean little without context. Cider and perry are not wine, and the names of varieties are unfamiliar to ninety nine point nine recurring per cent of the people who might encounter them. The likes of Pinot Grigio, Malbec, Sauvignon Blanc, Shiraz – these are common and well-known enough that labels can get by on those names alone. Customers will have a good idea of what the liquid tastes like. Much as it might stick in the craw, this is not true of Moorcroft, Bulmer’s Norman, Somerset Redstreak. Even the most common varieties like Dabinett or the cult favourites like Foxwhelp are non-existent in discourse outside the cider bubble.

If this is to change, if discussion of cider is to broaden and people are to gain greater understanding of what different ciders or perries taste like and why, we must go to greater lengths to unpack those differences wherever we can. It takes more work, but we must remind ourselves that we are building virtually from the ground up. People don’t know what Thorn tastes like; what Harry Masters’ Jersey tastes like. And the Long Ashton Research Station axis of bittersweet, bittersharp, sweet and sharp is insufficient. ‘Tannin’ and ‘acid’ are a starting point, but they don’t pertain to flavour. Otherwise Kingston Black (bittersharp) would taste the same as Foxwhelp (bittersharp), and Egremont Russet (sweet) the same as Jonagold (rubbish. (Joking… slightly)).

No, we must talk about what these things really taste like to us. This isn’t to suggest that descriptions be codified and policed, and I acknowledge that my own palate of experienced flavour is heavily influenced by the mainly western foods and aromas that are familiar to me. But people buy by preferred flavour, and therefore it is flavour that must take up much of our discourse.

It frustrates me no end when wine writers – people versed in grape varieties, their importance, and the array of flavours that come with them – pen an article on cider and perry and just talk about what funny/charming/bizarre names the apples and pears have. I think I’ve come across one single variety Slack Ma Girdle cider in my reasonably extensive cider drinking experience, and thoroughly unmemorable it was too. Yet read any broadsheet article and there it is, at the expense of the likes of Dabinett, Bisquet, Kingston Black, Foxwhelp. ‘Startlecock’ is a stupid nickname for ‘Holmer’, but it’s never ‘Holmer’ that gets printed (and no one’s currently making much of that either anyway). ‘Stinking Bishop’ (Moorcroft), ditto. 

But when I stop grinding my teeth and think about it for a moment, it makes sense. These writers are busy people. They have perhaps one week in the year to switch from their usual wine gig to cider. They need information quickly – and there’s so little information on variety flavours in cider and perry available. (Though if those writers are reading this, then *cough cough* click this link *cough cough*.) Until flavours are more prominently and generally discussed, freely available wherever people google cider and perry, ‘isn’t Hangy Down rustic and jolly?’ is the best we can expect.

In January 2020, my frustration at the utter lack – anywhere – of descriptions of apple varieties by cider flavour led me to reach out to Albert Johnson at Ross-on-Wye Cider & Perry Company. The subsequent tasting he generously laid on made this article possible. It’s still one of my favourites I’ve written, was something that gave me the greatest joy, and has informed so much of what I’ve written since. (It was also the start of what went on to become my regular cider column on Malt, and which led to the creation of this website. Nostalgia, nostalgia.)

Naturally, of course, I wanted to do a perry equivalent – a proper lineup of unoaked, dry, single variety perries. But events conspired against it; COVID, fireblight and, most pertinently, all the Ross-on-Wye 500ml perries having sold out. We’ve still managed a good few single variety spotlights during that period; Oldfield, Butt, Gin and Thorn to name but four. But never a whole raft of different single varieties at once.

In 2022, however, Albert, Mike, John, Becky, Bob, Martyn and the rest of team R-o-W pressed as many different pears as they could get their hands on. With the result that a few months ago they released a veritable raft of single variety perries. Avarice piqued, and with a week of working the Ross-on-Wye harvest upcoming (an article on which to follow shortly) I asked Albert whether we could finally do the long-coveted perry variety performance. He kindly consented and bish bash bosh, away we went.

All of the following are available on the Ross-on-Wye website for an ever-ridiculous £4.20 apiece. The fine people of The Cat in the Glass have them all too, god bless ‘em.

Ross-on-Wye Dymock Red 2022 – review

(Hilariously, in a huge burn to the Dymock Red Pear, the label for this perry opens with ‘a variety more noted for its history than its flavour’. First time tasting this pear singly for me I think – let’s find out if Albert’s throwing unfair shade).

How I served: Barn temperature. (This was the case for all of them so I won’t mention it from now on, though for the record I’d have given a few of these just a little bit of chilling personally).

Appearance: Lightly hazy lime juice. Spritz of fizz.

On the nose: Definitely not bounding out of the glass, but it’s clean, fresh and gentle with pear drop and lime leaf characters. Goes in a slightly ‘Diet Green Horse’ direction – a more delicate version of the green leaf and light, juicy pear thing. Pleasant, mind.

In the mouth: More going on here; more zip and zing. The lime leaf has taken on a more citrus juice tone. Still predominantly green and leafy, with a little juicy pear, peardrop and white florals. Fairly short finish.

In a nutshell: Not a blockbuster – on the simpler end of varieties. But a tasty, easygoing, fresh palate cleanser nonetheless.

Ross-on-Wye Turner’s Barn 2020 – review

(Albert accidentally grabbed the slightly mature one instead of the new release. Them’s the breaks. Don’t see much single variety Turner’s Barn about, but it’s an easy tree to recognise at Ross-on-Wye. ‘I planted it as the closest one to the barn so I’d remember what it was’, Mike told me).

Appearance: Very pale with light fizz.

On the nose: Lovely perfume. Grape and melon and lily petals. A little petrichor. Has rounded and developed over its lifetime, though retains freshness very well. I wouldn’t age this much longer perfectly – beautiful now. Soft, pillowy aromatics; a classic Three Counties perry nose, really.

In the mouth: Lovely delivery too – all that grape and melon flavour pepped up with sherbet and lemon zest and just a bit of white pepper. Enough acidity for vivaciousness without drawing focus from the ripe, juicy fruit.

In a nutshell: Smashing perry and smashing value too. You know what to do…

Ross-on-Wye White Bache 2022 – review

(A variety I know literally nothing about. ‘Unmasked!’ ‘Fraud!’ ‘Haven’t you written a book?!’ etc etc. Oh well, never claimed to be an expert. An enthusiastic hobbyist only. Anyway, I’ll know a bit more in a minute. FWIW it apparently ‘produces vintage quality perry but is a light cropper’. So there you have it.

Appearance: Between the last two in haze and hue. Same fizz. (By the way, I am valiantly battling a terribly reductive urge to just write that these are all ‘perry coloured’. Shame on me. *slaps own hand*

On the nose: Not a variety I know at all, but a rather unusual nose that is perhaps a little peardroppy for my taste. Warm lemons. Blossom. A slightly unusual note that reminds me of toffee waffles. (I can hear Albert’s exclamation of ‘what?’ as I type). Not my favourite nose, but aromatic and distinctive. I actually wonder whether this one is fully conditioned and resolved in honesty, so this may not be the most reliable of notes. Caveat lector and all that Latin.

In the mouth: In the sae way as the Turner’s Barn, this strikes a nice balance of fruit to gentle acidity. Much less of the peardroppiness here (yes that’s a real word). There’s still a little of it but we’re more into lime and melon and even a little pineapple. A juicy, rounded fruit basket. Actually works really well at this (barn) temperature.

In a nutshell: Not my pick of the bunch – it may be that this batch needs a little resolution time – but nonetheless a characterful perry that many will love.

Ross-on-Wye Hedgehog Pear 2022 – review

(Hedgehog Pear! What a funny name! How quaint and rural! No further questions! *Brief pause as wine industry Adam is wheeled out of the door and curious cider and perry drinker Adam brought back*. This variety is also called Barnet. It gets the hedgehog bit of the name because apparently the fallen fruits look like baby hedgehogs nestling in the grass but if you google ‘Hedgehog Pear’ all you get are irrelevant if adorable pictures. So there’s mileage in being po-faced I reckon.

Appearance: Perry col… Clear lemon green. Less fizz than others. A conditioning thing again.

On the nose: Really like that aroma. Leafy, slatey, mineral but with some lemon and lime jelly over the top. Very much a woodland greenery kind of nose – even a bit of tomato stem. Very clean and fresh young perry nose.

In the mouth: Notes carry over almost perfectly to the palate with an additional parma violet character that’s rare in perry but which I really love. (Though to the bin with actual parma violet sweets say I ). Perhaps more on the jellied fruits than the green leafiness here though. Has the same slight ‘issue’ as Blakeney Red in terms of lacking much acid or tannin. ‘All middle’, as Albert might say.

In a nutshell: Very tasty, but all about that juicy middle. A crowd-pleaser, I’d wager. And I’m a pleased member of that crowd.

Ross-on-Wye Winnal’s Longdon 2022 – review

(One of my absolute ultimate perries of this year and perhaps my favourite keg perry ever is Ross’s Winnal’s Longdon 2022, a perry that catapulted this variety into my personal favourites. This is a sibling batch, so I’m very excited, but Albert pre-warned me that he felt the keg was extra special. Nonetheless…)

Appearance: Similar again.

On the nose: Still conditioning a little bit I think – just a teensy bit reductive initially. But that’s atop a big, ripe burst of green tropical fruits and ripe citrus marmalade – lime marmalade, perhaps. Not as aromatically massive as the keg-conditioned but in the same camp of character.

In the mouth: An epic delivery. Big, juicy, rounded, with upfront lime jelly, a whole medley of citrus and that burst of green tropical fruit that you tend to get with this pear but is rather hard to place. (For me at any rate – others may have the perfect description of it). Again, acidity is refreshing, but fruit and juice are to the fore.

In a nutshell: One of the great pears. I think the keg-conditioned does edge it, but this is a fruit-filled delight. Buy it, give it a few months to finish conditioning, then drink it all Spring long.

Ross-on-Wye Yellow Huffcap 2022 – review

(A pear with a reputation as being absolutely excellent, especially for sparkling perries, and also a total bastard that doesn’t reliably fall off the tree and rots inside out whilst still on the branch. Given the tree is sodding massive (the biggest in the Ross orchard), to taste Yellow Huffcap is to taste something you know people have worked bloody hard for).

Appearance: Maybe one pantone shade deeper in the right light.

On the nose: One of those pears that has an utterly idiosyncratic aroma. (Look at him coming out with the excuses already). Lemon drops, petrichor and even plasticine – but not in a bad way, just as Riesling sometimes smells like petrol, but in a good way. One of those perries that isn’t especially ‘fruity’ in the way that the likes of Winnal’s Longdon or Hendre Huffcap are, but whose aromas evoke the outdoors; damp caves, honeysuckle. Can you tell I’m straining? Delicate, but complex and alluring. I really like this.

In the mouth: Full-bodied, winey delivery. (Higher abv than the others). A nibble of acidity is set against that big 2022 season weight of fruit. It’s very elegant. Sherbet lemons, slatey minerality. Fresh cut grass and hedgerow. Delicious already but I suspect this will have a good bit of ageing in it. Great structure and concentration of flavour.

In a nutshell: Another of the great pears. Complex, refined, layered perry. More cerebral than the others I think, if you’ll permit a slightly fanciful adjective. As unskewerable as Yellow Huffcap often is. And a cracker for it. Another to go long on.

Ross-on-Wye Hendre Huffcap 2022 – review

(A variety that’s had a lot of love on these pages. Never more so than in Chris’s paean to Bartestree’s, here. Though I ran him close with my encomiums to Butford Organic’s, the best HH I’ve tried to date. Anyway, a pear we taste with much excitement.)

Appearance: I’ll give you two guesses.

On the nose: Just evokes the change from spring to summer. (I’m writing ‘evoke’ a lot today. But perry is an evocative drink). Pure, smiley-face juicy fruit, in pears, nectarines, white peach, fresh apricot and honeydew melon. Maybe a little white grape too. Not a full on riot like the Butford was, this is gentler, with some delicate florals on the side. But mainly about those lovely soft fruits.

On the palate: Even more so here; a total beam of everything above, all amped up a notch by perfect conditioning and – and Hendre Huffcap sometimes struggles in this respect – a teeny nibble of acidity. But just so much soft fruity juiciness, with all the flavours of the nose in delightful song. Delicious stuff.

In a nutshell: The easy-sipping, generous-glassfuls, pour-for-anyone charmer of the group. Yum. As a bonus hot take, I increasingly think of Hendre Huffcap as being what Blakeney Red wishes it was. (Literally units of readers now seething, incensed).

Ross-on-Wye Barland 2022 – review

(The first properly named variety encountered in British pomology as far as I’m aware, being described 370-odd years ago by John Beale as rejected by pigs on account of its appalling astringency. A good start. Perrymakers are idiots etc. Amazing to taste something with that level of history though…)

Appearance: A slightly deeper gold.

On the nose: Even deeper into the earthy, mineral camp than the Yellow Huffcap. I’m reminded of the aromatics of the likes of Butt or maybe some elements of Gin (the pear, not the flavoured Vodka). Wet stones, natural gas, pear skin – another of those perry noses that is incredibly hard to skewer. A little lemon and melon. Very concentrated – this feels very much at the start of a potentially long life. Evocative (no apologies) and compelling.

In the mouth: Tannin! Good lord, first meaningful time in the set. A lovely cats-tongue perry texture and delicate acidity offset beautiful, mineral, lemon’n’lime and fresh herb and ripe pear and rockpool character (I know what I mean). Yet very juicy too. So pure and fresh and textural and defined and – yep, it’s coming – evocative. God I love this style of perry. You can’t find something like this in any other drink.

In a nutshell: A fabulous evocation of this ancient variety. Superb perry for buying and keeping and trying to resist just drinking it all.

Conclusions

Worth the wait. A fascinating and fabulous lineup. 

Bar the Turner’s Barn all are very young, so I suspect the differences between them will become even more apparent over the next year or so. Hard as ever to pick favourites, but on this tasting I’d file the Barland in my personal list of ‘great varieties’ along with both Huffcaps and the Winnal’s Longdon which were already established there. Also love the Turner’s Barn, think the Hedgehog has a lot to commend it, and wouldn’t need any persuading to drink the Dymock Red again. White Bache wasn’t my favourite personally, but I suspect I’ll need to revisit that in a few months as I may have jumped the gun on opening this particular example. 

Writing my notes for these I was reminded that tasting perry stretches you. You can’t lean on established truisms as you can with wine – blackcurranty Cabernet Sauvignon, spicy Shiraz, plummy Merlot etc. You have to really let the perry come to you, as it were, and sometimes it presents aromas and flavours that my existing vocabulary struggles with.

Which is why I think it’s all the more important that we keep talking about this. Where my language falls short, yours may not. I didn’t have words for how Butt Pear tasted to me until James said ‘natural gas’ a couple of years ago, and now I find that particular character unmissable. Indeed as weird as it sounds it is one of the first things I actively look for in a perry that contains this pear.

The more we talk in a friendly, generous and co-operative way about the flavours of varieties, the more we open up our world to new drinkers. Lovers of beer, of wine, of spirits, of sake – whatever it may be – all exist in spheres with their own individual and idiosyncratic names and language, just as we do. It is in the discussion of how things taste that we will build our bridges across to them.

(Huge thanks to Albert for making this tasting possible. Sorry we missed the Speckled Russet, pictured centre, out. It had mysteriously emptied itself when we came back from dinner. An excuse for another article in the future…)